


Love of a Different Lifetime

by alicat54c



Series: Spider Boxes [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: All the banter, Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marvel Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Mini golf euphemisms, Rating may go up because even Cap can't get them to watch their language, Spideypool - Freeform, Team Red, Universe Alteration, Why?, Yo Mama Jokes, i have homework and a thesis, why am i sailing new ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6443794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicat54c/pseuds/alicat54c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead.  </p><p>...<br/>“Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.”</p><p>Wade's arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk.</p><p>Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.”</p><p>The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mini Golf

…

No one ever mentions why being a superhero sucks.

It’s not the tragic back stories or world altering crisis’s, it was time management.

For example, Peter Parker, 24, sleep deprived since donning a web based costume when he was sixteen, had to seriously cut down on his…everything in order to swing around the city at odd hours.

Don’t get him wrong, Peter LOVED being Spiderman.

Just, sometimes, the having to take two extra years to finish his biochemistry degree, taking a job he was over qualified for at the Bugle for it’s flexible hours, and pinching pennies for rent and food could be trying.

So, on this particular day, Peter celebrated his rare free evening, not by doing any of the work threatening to crush his rickety Ikea desk (super duper senior-itis had long set in), and instead decided to take a nostalgic skate across town to his usual patrol start, instead of swinging.

The skateboard had been through a lot in its long life, having stuck with the hero since high school. It was held together by duck tape, hope, and magic. So it couldn’t really be blamed for giving up the ghost, at long long last, as its owner zoomed across the streets in the less than savory parts of New York.

Now, usually Peter Parker, having the miraculous senses and reflexes of his spidery alter ego, would have been able to twist at the last minute to avoid crashing into the idiot, who thought it was a great idea to go walking in the middle of a skate park.

Unfortunately on this night, to compliment the already fantastic day, his board decided it had suffered enough abuse at the hero’s hands, and the wobbly wheel Peter kept meaning to replace when he got home gave out, causing the hero’s trajectory to lurch forwards in a splayed fall.

Peter had half a moment of clarity where he probably could have done…something, but his sleep jumbled mind could barely summon enough energy to shift into the needed ‘Spiderman Mode’ for such an effort to bare any fruit. Thus, the young man found himself with a face full of leather, before crashing to the ground.

The body beneath him groaned. “Ouch.”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Peter cried, surreptitiously trying to check whether he accidentally brained the guy he just almost ran over with his skateboard, before scrambling to his feet.

The fallen body resolved itself into a set of broad shoulders with precisely military cut hair and a raised eyebrow that could have given Jameson a run for his money.

Peter internally began cursing, as the fluster creeping into his mannerisms shifted to a completely new flavor of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.” He said again, offering the stranger and hand up. “Are you ok? Is there anything I could do?”

The (hot) guy accepted Peter’s hand. His other eyebrow rose to join the first at the ease the seemingly string bean kid pulled him to his feet. A (cute) smile touched the corners of his lips, and he didn’t let the hand go once fully vertical.

“Well.” Shit, even his voice sounded like chocolate (the kind with honey nuts). “I don’t know how I will ever recover from the injury of being lightly knocked to the pavement in the middle of a skate park. I think it’s terminal. I suppose the only thing I need is someone to comfort me in my final hours.”

Fuuuuuuuuu- “My plans for the evening have been derailed,” Peter’s mouth said, and his treacherous hands releasing the (calloused strong) palm of the other to indicate the fractured pieces of the board on the ground. 

“Really?” The guy’s eyes lit with hazel gold mirth. “What a coincidence. We can go look for some company together!”

“But where would we find someone at this hour?” 

He hummed, gaze never leaving Peter’s. “We could try Palace Park?”

The young man wobbled his shoulders in mock indecision, taking a long moment to sweep the broken wheel and wood into his backpack, before straightening back up. “Well, I guess I could always use another Tiny Transformer Bot from the prize table.”

That smile should have been illegal in the northern hemisphere. “Wade Wilson,” Wade said, holding out a gentlemanly arm.

Peter fumbled, before slipping his hand into the crook of his elbow. “Peter Parker.”  
…

In another time and place, Wade would have gone back to Weasel’s bar and met the love of his life, Vanessa. However, in this life, predicated by a squeaky skateboard wheel, he met Peter instead. 

Peter knew he was in trouble around the time Wade single handedly got the all time high score in Skee-Ball, but it wasn’t until the argument over which power ring transformer had the best run in an old 90s TV show that he knew he was in love.

There would always be Gwen. Peter still visited her and her father’s grave on the anniversary of…anyway, after Gwen came Mary Jane, the fire cracker who lit up the hero’s life in ways he didn’t believe himself capable of anymore. He had loved her deeply and sincerely, but then she got kidnaped and threatened a few more times than Spiderman’s psyche could handle. 

Peter knew he had to break things off with her when he found himself seriously contemplating giving her a tracker and guarding her windowsill. She understood, god bless her, and they left on mutually friendly terms. Peter secretly though that was because he had woken them both in a cold sweat too often, but he never asked.

And after Mary Jane had come… an alien invasion. That had been a fun, in an “O Mai GOD EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE”, kind of way.

And with the alien invasion came, not only a brief rise in Spidey’s public rating (saving a subway car downtown from space turtle whales does that), but also the realization that Peter had a type.

Specifically, quick witted bad ass (and nice assed) individuals with a perchance for danger. Incidentally, Peter had his first sexual crisis, when he found himself inappropriately interested in the footage of Captain America running around in skin tight everything saving civilians.

The young man tried to brush off his apparent attraction by citing how everyone and (especially) their grandmother had a crush on Captain America.

Then Flash Thompson happened.

Specifically, the former bully tracked down his former victim as apart of his self acceptance therapy, to explain how he was unable to cope with his confused feelings in High School, and took it out on the object of his affections. Flash then gave him the number of his LGBTQ group sessions, and left, still spouting profuse apologies.

On something slightly more than a whim, Peter went, listened, and talked.

Lying in bed that night, he thought, “Well, I guess this is me then. Ok.”

Of course, it was more complicated than that, but that’s not the story you came here for.  
…

“Minigolf?”

The corner of Peter’s mouth twitched, as he tried to pick out a club with the same gravity one might a coffin. “You can’t just go to Palace Park without playing minigolf, Wade. That’s just barbaric.”

“Me Wade, you Peter.” The older man grunted, hunched like a lumbering ape.

The hero snorted and lightly punched his arm. “Pick your weapon Tarzan.”

“Usually I stick with my personal driver.” Languidly he pulled a tiny metal pole with a hot pink handle from the bin. “But I suppose this will have to do.”

“Hm, maybe you can show me later.”

The pair sidled to the first course, a simple straight patch of grass.

“Bet I can get a better score than you.” Peter challenged, club across his shoulders with his arms draped over the ends.

“You’re on.” Wade said, placing his hot pink golf ball on the synthetic grass. “Though I warn you, I have impeccable aim.” He swung his arm back like a pendulum.

“Yo mamma so dumb, she thought Tiger Woods was a forest in India.”

His arm spasmed, causing his swing to go wide, sending the ball clear out of the course and across the sidewalk.

Peter carefully kept his eyes on the score sheet as his companion turned around, expression playfully murderous. He scratched a line with a short pencil. “So, that’s one point against you.”

The older man’s face split into a toothy grin. “Oh, it is on, baby boy.”

The hero handed over the sheet and put his own red ball in place. His voice gained a cheesy announce like quality. “A new challenger has stepped up to the plate, but is he worthy?”

“Yo mamma though so last night.”

The ball clattered into the hole. Peter hissed in mock sympathy. “It appears that his talk is better than his game, ladies and gentlemen.”

Wade’s lips twisted as the two walked to retrieve their balls. “What can I say, I got distracted by the view.”

Peter squeaked as a slap to his backside startled him, and his partner waltzed to the next course. 

The night continued to unfold into the most epic Yo Mama fight Peter had ever participated in, and considering he had been bantering on a professional level since starting the whole super hero thing, that was saying something.

“Yo mama so fat, she ate the entire Green Lantern corp.”

The pink ball danced past the windmill, and clicked into a perfect hole in one. “Oh come on, you can do better than that!”

Peter shrugged. “I’ll admit, not my best work.” He swung his club over his shoulder and perused the score chart (which now sported several red and pink unicorn drawings, curtesy of Wade’s pocket crayons). “Still, looks like I won.” He brandished the paper in mock apology.

“Still, this has been practically stimulating.” Wade drawled, mimicking his posture. 

Peter side eyed the broad shouldered frame, casually beginning an idle walk to drop off his club. “Too bad you never found that someone to spend the last hours of your life with.”

Leather creaked as his back stretched and shifted in a shrug. “I think I’ve got a few hours left in me.”

The red club bounced as it was dropped in the bin by the office. “I suppose there’s still hope then. Though, I must ask, what do you plan on doing with your last hours, Mr. Wilson?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He shrugged non chalantly. “No not really, though if you insist on chattering my ear off-“

Pink joined red with a sharp clatter, and an arm snaked its way across the young man’s waist. “How about we wrap up this euphemism and get out of here.”

Peter leaned into the touch. “If you insist.”  
…  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:
> 
> O my god, i’m a teenage girl. Just, I can’t.
> 
> Timeline:
> 
> 2016: DP movie  
> 2015: cancer diagnosis + weapons X  
> 2014: Meet Peter (flashback scenes from movie) Peter is 24!  
> 2012: Avengers  
> 2010: Iron Man 1  
> 2006: Peter becomes Spiderman (think Andrew Garfield movies, but kept more under wraps)


	2. Moving In

…

“Oh my GOD, you’re THAT Peter Parker?”

It had been a week since the First Annual Yo Mama Mini Golf Championship. Wade had yet to shut up. Peter had yet to tell him to.

The hero looked up from where he was dismantling his camera to scrape out some webbing caught in the lens. “Which that Peter Parker? There are more Peter Parkers? A Parker Armada? Wade, you have to tell me these things!”

The older man rolled over on the bed. “You’re the guy who shoots Spidey’s pinups!”

The photographer spluttered. “Hey, everything I put out for the public was entirely G rated!”

Wade slid off the bed, closer to the other. “Oh, Petey-pie, this mean you’ve been holding out on me? I thought we had something special!”

“Special enough for you to request dirty pictures of another man that I may or may not have?”

“Of course!”

He screwed the lens back into place, and clicked the shutter a few times. “Well, I may be open to discussion, but we’ll need to negotiate proper compensation.”

Wade kissed his neck. “Hm~ I can think of a few things.”

Peter put down his camera, turning an inch. His voice gained a shocked tone. “Mr. Wilson, you’re trying to seduce me!”

“Is it working?”

His head turned further to press his lips against the other’s cheek. “Don’t stop on my account, you were about to find out!”  
…

“Sister Margaret’s Bar, isn’t that where…?”

“Where I work, yes.”

Peter sat up abruptly, the Captain America themed blanket pooling around his waste. 

Wade turned on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Baby boy, I’m never gonna lie to you, and I’m never gonna deny you an out if you want-“

“It’s not that.” Peter picked at his fingers. “It’s just- so you’re a-“

“Solder of fortune, hired gun, condottiere, Christopher Walken in the Dogs of War-“

“A mercenary, yeah.”

“Does it bother you?”

The picking intensified. “You hurt people.”

“No one that doesn’t deserve it. Though, usually, I’m just scaring punks who can’t take a ladies’ no for an answer, or using my metaphorical and non metaphorical guns to back up someone who needs an intimidation boost.”

“Have you ever killed anyone.”

The mercenary plucked at the bedspread. “Officially I was working for the government for most of them.” 

Peter’s knees drew up to his chest, arms and head bending like a refolded origami.

“Do you want me to go?”

The younger man shook his head.

“You mad?”

He shook his head again. “I’m not mad. I’m kinda…relieved I guess? My last relationship, it, uh- I sometimes get into trouble, like wrong place worst time kind of trouble. You know, from, like, taking pictures of, uh, Spiderman, and stuff? Well… so, Gwen got caught up in it and, yeah. And MJ kept getting kidnaped.” He rubbed his knuckles over his forehead. “If anyone’s gonna mess with you, well, they’ve got to work for it, I guess.”

Wade’s arms encircled his waist. “Damn straight they do.” He kissed his collarbone. “Don’t worry baby boy, I got enough bang in my buck to keep you safe from all this hero crazy too.”

Peter chuckled wetly, clutching at his partner’s hands. “Yeah.”  
…

“So, Peter, now that we’ve hit the three month mark, we need to discuss the next big step in our relationship.”

The hero rolled over to look at the soldier standing in the middle of his tiny apartment. “Oh?”

Wade nodded seriously, and pulled a glittery diary covered in Hello Kitty stickers from behind his back. “We need to discuss the freebie list.”

The younger man hummed, stretching his fingers until they hit the back wall. “Well, Captain America is on the top of mine, obviously.”

“But Captain America is on MY list!” Wade wined, coming to lay beside his partner, propped up on his elbows like a tween at a slumber party.

Peter considered this. “Ok, how about, Captain America can stay on both of our lists, but if we ever meet him at the same time together, we have to make an effort for a threesome.”

“But then that’s not cheating, that’s Christmas.” The merc’s straight face turned considering. “Maybe we should make a separate list of poly potentials. You know, for the people we both agree on.”

“I’m amendable to this.” He sighed rolling closer to the warmth at his side.

“Right, then Spiderman goes on the top of that list, because you totally have an in with him, and why are you laughing?”  
…

Living in a mouse hole with another person makes it marginally difficult to keep secrets from one another. Not that the couple lived together officially, just, they each had keys to the other’s apartment, and Peter spend more nights out of his own bed than in it (for once not entirely on hero business).

For instance, Peter now knew that Wade would let the trash pile up until it developed architectural sentience, unless forced to take it out, as well as every gun and knife’s hiding spot in the deceptively well armed spaces of their two abodes.

Meanwhile, Wade knew about (and contributed to) Peter’s R rated photography kink, and…

It happened when Wade was supposed to be out of the apartment for a few days on a job. Peter, defaulting to his regular operandi of window entrances after a long patrol, didn’t think anything of jimmying the frame open and sliding into bed in his costume.

He never made it past the kitchen, before the tell tale click of a safety had his spider sense screaming.

“I think I saw a porno that started like this once.” The voice was low and gravely in a way that sent mixed sensations down the hero’s spine. “Now, usually, I wouldn’t bother a fella just trying to make ends meet, but this is my boo’s house, so I can’t just let it slide.”

The light clicked on. Peter squinted, missing the tinted lenses of his mask, which was currently clutched in his hand.

Wade’s expression shifted from flat business and through the spectrum of surprise, before settling on an open incredulity. He lowered his weapon. “Normally I’d be turned on by the cosplay, baby boy, but we’re on the tenth floor, and your apartment doesn’t have a fire escape on that window.”

The hero sighed and gave a half hearted wave. “Hey honey buns, thought you were out tonight.”

“Got off early. Wanted to surprise you.”

“That explains the lack of pants.

“Well, my bathing suit parts were draped in rose petals, but they all fell off when I came over here to almost shoot you.”

Peter couldn’t help the tiny sad smile that pricked the corner of his lips. His arms crossed over his chest, and his shoulders curled in on themselves. 

Wade scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun. “So, I guess this is why you didn’t like mixing our laundry.”

The younger man’s body shifted, angling from the window to the couch. “That was more because I didn’t want to dye your shirts blue and pink. Nylon bleeds like you wouldn’t believe.”

Wade stepped closer, overtly leaving the weapon on the counter. “You should switch to Kevlar; better protection.”

Peter takes the cue and shuffles to a seat on the lumpy upholstery, his partner not far behind. “I dunno babe, that stuff’s not cheap.”

The taller man slid an arm across the younger’s shoulders, settling them close together. “Well, it’ almost the holidays, and baby boy has been a good little hero this year.” 

Peter pressed his forehead against the other’s collarbone. His voice was raw when he spoke. “Thanks.”

A kiss feathered across the top of his head.

The two sat in silence for a few shared heartbeats.

“Oh my god, do you know what this means?” Peter turned his head, to see that Wade’s face looked as if all twelve days of Christmas had come early. “I’m alternately banging and being banged by a superhero!”

A gasp of laughter spasmed through Peter’s diaphragm, and he pressed his face against his partner’s chest.

“I guess that means I have to cross Spiderman off my freebie list.”

The mirth blossomed into a full out guffaw, the hero clutching feebly at the other for support to stay vertical. “We- we should move in together.” He fit between gasps.

Wade, who had been toying with Peter’s hair, paused for a moment. “Like officially? Ok. No more of this commuting for morning sex crap.”

Peter couldn’t breathe through the tumble of emotions clogging the back of his throat. “I love you.”

“Ditto.”

Peter pulled back, face fighting to stay straight through his twitching lips. “Ghost? No. I changed my mind. You’re fired. I can’t believe you-“

Wade pulled his protests down into a kiss.  
…

“Merry Christmas!”

Peter groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. “Go awa~y!”

The bed, which took up about a fourth of their tiny apartment, bounced as a body leapt into its midst. Peter threw a pillow at the disturbance.

“Go away, I’m sore and tired!”

“Thats not what you said last night.” The body shuffled closer.

The hero futilely hid his face from the sunlight streaming cheerfully through the lone skylight. “Those two sentences are not unrelated. So, please, let me sleep.”

“As tempted as I am for your tanks to be full for our personal holiday bash, I got you prezzies! Now up and atom soldier!”

The body rolled off the bed, taking with it the blankets.

Peter whined, body reflexively curling into a ball to preserve as much bare skin as possible from the cold. “Wa~d~e!” A bleary brown eye glared at the mercenary. 

“Pe~ter!” He waved a moderately sized box above the hero’s head.

Sighing, the younger man uncurled and propped himself up against the back wall, adopting a saccharin laced voice and expression. “Aw, babe! You got me a present! You shouldn’t have!”

Wade brandished the box, adorned liberally with bows and My Little Pony wrapping. “Consider it an investment to keep dat ass safe.”

Smiling despite himself, Peter tore through the paper with abandon, ending the destruction by flinging the box’s top clear across the room. His mirth cut out when he saw what was inside.

“Oh.” He lifted the blue and red material up, feeling the dense fabric scrape against his fingers. Black webbing crisscrossed the whole ensemble, mesh and heavy like threads of steel.

“I called in a favor with Weasel, who knows a guy who makes this crazy discreet armor for the mob and stuff, you know? Anyway, went to the guy, he’s a sweet heart really, and asked if he wouldn’t mind slapping this little puppy together. The hardest part was sneaking away one of your old suits for him to base the design on. Seriously, do laundry more, finding one without blood stains was like finding a unicorn in a haystack.”

Peter’s hands fell into his lap. “Wade, this is-“

“Just make sure you’ll wear it, ok? Daddy paid big bucks for that, and if you just put it in the back of a closet like a christmas sweater I’ll be very-“

A kiss cut off his words.  
…

“Happy Second Annual Yo Mama Mini Golf Championship, or as the un indoctrinated call it, Valentine’s Day.”

Peter stretched languidly against the rumpled pillows, arching his back until it popped. “Just in time for us to make a new gymnastic bucket list. I got some new ideas, since we know now that my wall sticking powers are apparently automatic.”

“There’s something else we should probably talk about.” Wade rolled onto his knees, pulling a plastic ring from nowhere.

“It’s the final Mini Bot Transformer Ring!”

“Only the best for my boo.”

“Aw! You shouldn’t have!” Peter let the mercenary slide the toy onto his third finger. His eyes widened minutely, and a quiet giddiness shivered up his spine. His voice was low when he spoke. “Really?”

Wade kissed his cheek. “Well, I mean, our compatriots have worked so hard to make it legal in this country, so why not?” 

The hero threw himself into the other’s arms. “Yes!!!”

The other’s laughter was cut off by a sharp hiss of pain.

“Wade, you ok?”

The mercenary’s hand rose to his head. “Yeah, I- I’m-“

He was unconscious before he fell from the bed to hit the floor.  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:  
> This chapter covers the flashback year seen in the DP movie. Next is Weapon X, so fun times for everyone.
> 
> Fun fact, in every scene in this chapter, either one or more characters are not wearing clothes.
> 
> Also, wow! I’ve never gotten so much feedback on a single chapter (over 200 kidos!), so thanks everybody!  
> Also, if you want to see some story stats (like outline status and stuff), check out my pro site here: https: // thereibi. wordpress .com/


	3. No More Parkour

“It’s probably nothing,” Wade tried to assure once he woke up in the emergency room. “I mean you did tell me not to try to sustain myself on chimichangas, and I did take it as a challenge to prove you wrong.”

His partner sat next to him on a dinkey hospital chair, knuckles white where they tried not to crush Wade’s calloused palm between them.

“Probably just your old man ass finally breaking down on you. I knew I should have gotten the newer model.”

“Aw, you know you love old reliable.”

“I guess having to kick it into gear on an hourly basis does hold some nostalgic charm.”

Any canoodling that sentence might have inspired was cut off when the room door opened, bringing a puff of antiseptic air and a grim faced woman in a white coat. 

Peter’s biceps strained with the effort of keeping his shivers still.

When the doctor opened her mouth, a white noise began humming in the mercenary’s ears.

“My aunt died a few years ago from breast cancer.” Peter’s voice floated above the hive of thoughts, a rock amid a wind storm. “I haven’t kept up with the newest therapies since then, but I know that Oscorp was making a breakthrough in multi system degenerative diseases.”

The doctor nodded indulgently, but her voice descended back behind the low ambient buzz in the back of Wade’s mind.

He didn’t look away from Peter’s face for the rest of the meeting.  
…

“So, mini golf?”

“Wade, we just got out of the doctor’s office.”

“You’re right, you forgot your camera at home. It’s ok, we can swing by to pick it up.”

“Wade-“

“You know if you keep saying my name all husky like that, people will begin to talk.”

The hero flung his shoulders back, teeth bared, eyes glaring. “Well I might not be able to say it forever, so I’m gonna keep doing it, Wade!” The fight immediately left the hero’s body and he clung to the other’s chest. “I want to say you name to make up for all the times I won’t be able to.”

“Petey…”

“Wade, please.”

Deceptively strong arms encircled the shorter’s back. “But don’t you want all the times you’ve said my name to be happy?”

“They are, Wade!”

“Then lets keep making them happy, for as long as we can.” He tilted the other’s face up to meet his eyes. “Please.”

They did end up going back for the camera, though Peter’s eyes were too blurry for the shots to come out with the same crisp focus he was used to. Not that that stopped him from capturing every minute change of expression in his love’s face.  
…

The Ikea kitchen table was nearly lost under a mountain of papers, with Peter’s duck taped laptop the only blank spot. 

“This treatment looks promising,” the hero was saying. “And it has a good history of clinical studies backing it up.”

“Put the work down.” Wade stretched and sighed, from where he was trying to discreetly take a nap, arms pillowed atop the table. “It’s not like I have health insurance to pay for any of that stuff.”

“What?”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’m an illegal boarder jumper. Haven’t you noticed my religious adherence to pure Canadian maple syrup?”

“I always thought it was because Aunt Jemima killed your family.”

“Well, yes, that too.”

Peter perused the pamphlets. “We can always take a loan for the chemo. On top of my school tuition, I should be debt free, eh, probably around the time I’m eighty.”

Wade was back to looking at Peter’s face again. “Maybe we should hold off on that.”

“We shouldn’t. If we wait too long it won’t do much good-“

“Baby boy, we’re way past that point.”

The pamphlets slammed onto the table. “So you want me to, what, give up?”

Wade’s lips pressed together.

“I’m not going to do that. I’m fighting for you. I’ll always fight for you.” His fervor deflated, and he collapsed like a shawl around his love, trying to envelope him in an embrace. “Please. Please, I have to know that you’ll keep fighting too. Please. Because when you stop, then it’s over.”

Wade’s arms wound around Peter.

“Ok.”  
…

Spiderman had been negligent of his hero duties as of late. His patrols seemed insignificant with the other troubles crowding his life. So when he did finally make a break out of his window to swing around the city, the hour was late and his body could barely support the mental fatigue pulling his psyche down like lead. He turned home a few hours before dawn, deciding that his hero quota had been filled with a few stopped muggings and a robbery. 

Peter stumbled through the window, pulling the back of his mask over his head, until it came away as a mostly red blob of fabric with hefty seams visible.

“Hey Spide~y!”

The coy voice pulled an unbidden smile from the depths of the hero’s heart.

Wade flipped over the back of the couch, wearing his work boots and jacket. “Oh my, what ever shall I do, a masked vigilante has appeared in my home!”

The game was familiar, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to be in the mood to play. “Nothing to see here citizen,” he breathed, throwing his mask on the table and pulling at his web shooters. “I’m off duty, and about to crash.”

“Too busy snatching thieves in your sticky web?”

His laugh was tired. “You know it.”

The hulking figure slunk to his side. Arms wrapped half way around the hero’s waist, before snatching the inside out bits of costume from the table and spinning away. “Hope you’ve got the energy for one more chase. Some crazy mercenary just snatched your mask. They could totally sell it for millions to the highest bidder.”

Peter sighed. “Wade, give me back my mask.”

“Oh no!” the merc cried dramatically. “The perp is getting away via fire escape, what ever shall Spiderman do to preserve his identity?” One boot clad leg was already out the window.

The spider couldn’t help the tiny smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “Well, I guess Spiderman’s gonna have to run down that thief and make sure that he’s punished.”

The mercenary grinned, and tugged the inverted mask over his head. “Well, you’re going to have to catch me if you want it back, big boy.” He slid through the window like a shot, leaping from the fire escape to the adjoining roof.

Laughing despite himself, Peter followed, using his superior strength to jump over the gap with more distance than the other man. Used to this maneuver, Wade spun on a dime to double back round the air vent, calves tensing to jump across another gap.

The mercenary clutched his side mid leap, his legs stuttering as he tumbled over the roof’s ledge.

“Wade!” Peter screamed, diving after him. The hero caught his lover around the middle, being careful to support his wheezing form against the shock of a web line stopping their fall.

They lowered to the ground of a slimy alleyway. Wade’s breath began to even out as the tumorous stitch in his side eased, but Peter’s hitched. 

“Guess we can’t parkour anymore Parker.” The merc tried to lift his arm, but only managed a stutter of movement.

Peter’s forehead pressed tightly to Wade’s collarbone. He could still feel the hero’s pulse race against his skin.  
…

“Looking sleek, Spidey-babe!” Wade said, eyeing his boyfriend’s suit clad form.

“Job interview,” the hero said, combing his fingers ineffectually through his wind swept hair in front of the tiny cracked mirror. “One of Oscorp’s labs is looking for a tech. They’re doing a lot of experimental therapies on multi-system cancers.”

“What happened to you saying you’d never work for your arch nemesis, or whatever he is these days.”

Peter shrugged, straightening his tie. “I’ll deal.”

Wade sighed dramatically. “Gonna be real hard sneaking off of work to take down your boss when he goes all villain-y.”

“I’m sure the city can survive. Besides, didn’t you hear? The Avengers moved in next door.”

“But what if they have you doing evil science? You’re too cute to be anyone’s minion but my own!”

Peter’s eyes didn’t rise from where they buttoned up his cuffs. “But I hear minions get good dental.”

“But what if-“

“Wade, stop it!” The hero batted his lover’s arms away, glaring. “If I can find something, anything, to help you, than you can damn well be sure that I’m going to try!” 

His flare of anger deflated, and he collapsed boneless against the merc’s chest. “Oscorp’s evil, yeah, but they’re top in degenerative disease research in this half of the world. I’ve seen what his scientists get up to, but aside from the creepy stuff, they really know what their work. If I can even get a hint of what they’ve been doing, and they’re close, so close to finding working therapies, but it will take years for that to get legalized, and you don’t- I can’t-“

His words broke down in hitching sobs.

The taller man’s expression flatlined. He held the other as if he were made of glass.

“Hey,” Wade joked. “If you do steal me a cure all serum or whatever, would you still love me if I got all green like the goblin?”

Peter chuckled wetly, and ineffectually wiped the snot and tears from his face with a sleeve. “I’ve always though the original Spock character concept was interesting.” He settled back against the broader chest, fingers tightening imperceptibly.  
…

“And this is why I could never handle a nine to five.” Wade scowled at the schedule spread over some old biochemistry textbooks.

“It’s not too bad,” Peter demurred, flipping pages to try and re-familiarize himself with half forgotten concepts.

“But it doesn’t give you any time to patrol!”

The hero shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll deal.”

“But you love being Spiderman!” Wade protested. “I love you loving being Spiderman!”

“Wade.” Peter’s brown eyes met the merc’s with laser intensity. “It doesn’t matter. Not compared to this.” 

The older man’s mouth fixed in a blank line. “Petey.”

The hero’s head swung back down to his book. “Stop.”

“Peter.”

“Please.” His head hunched till it touched the paper. “Just- just let me do this for you. Please.”  
…

“I’m home!” Peter called, unbuttoning the collar of his polo. The apartment was silent. “Wade?”  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:
> 
> That ending gave me all the sad bunny feels. Also, sweet, another 200 kudos! This must be what it’s like writing for a popular fandom tag! Thanks folks!


	4. Margarets and Morlocks

Peter didn’t often go to St. Margarets, and it wasn’t just because Wade got into a bar fight whenever he was there in some kind of elaborate mating ritual (according to Weasel). However, the hero was willing to make an exception.

Scarlet hoodie pulled over his head, Peter sat at the bar, patiently waiting for the blonde proprietor to notice him.

“What can I do for you?” Weasel said once he had hung up the phone. His tone was the flat sarcastic lilt he used for all non-regulars.

“Did Wade stop by here recently?”

“Haven’t seen him in ages.”

The spider tilted his head. Behind the bar, a picture of them taken on a lazy pancake morning Peter KNEW Wade kept in his wallet was tacked between a bottle of Jager and Morgan. Brown eyes ticked back to the bar tender. The stained wood under Peter’s fingers began to groan and warp. “You sure about that?”

“Hey, mind the property!” The blonde blanched, with the same unfazed expression he faced every strange and unusual thing in his life with. “Listen, I don’t know anything! He just talked with some suit, I thought it was a job or something, except Wade had his infomercial face on. He gave him a card, but I haven’t seen the guy since.”

“Did the suit say what he wanted?”

“No man, I’m sorry.”

Peter’s fists clenched and unclenched, his eyes distant. “It’s ok. Thanks Weasel. Just let me know if you hear anything?” 

“Sure thing Pete.”

The hero nodded sharply and turned to go.  
…

Piles of trash overflowed in the kitchen, like a modern art performance of dancing flies and plastic bags. It had been Wade’s turn to take them out. Peter made a mental note to punch his lover for forgetting once he found him.

Turning away from the decomposition, the hero eyed the piles of unwashed clothes creeping along the corners of the room like thick shadows. Pulling on his last fresh pair of Spiderman gloves, Peter opened up the laundry bin and began to clean.

Several unmentionable hours later, where a small civilization of puppy sized rats was frightened away from their home under the bed, and Peter ended up screaming on the ceiling, he found it.

The card was blank, save for a white phone number, stark against the black background.

“Well, this doesn’t look suspicious at all,” Peter muttered to himself.

Usually Spiderman’s enemies didn’t take this long to hold some elaborate scheme to let the hero know that they had his significant other held captive. The silence since Wade’s departure made Peter think that perhaps some new nefarious villain had taken the stage. New York had been lacking in explosions ever since Harry finally got court mandated therapy (though the Avengers had been making an effort to rectify that, what with the whole alien invasion and Tony Stark being himself thing).

This card and Weasel’s testimony implied that the merc had gone willingly, though Peter couldn’t think of any kind of threat that would make that happen. Unless they had threatened him. Wade was bad at sharing if he thought the hero might be hurt.

Like the time he came home with a bullet in his arm, and it took Peter until the next morning to notice, because Wade had let him glean some much needed sleep before an exam, instead of having him call the hospital. 

A small corner of the hero’s mind hoped that it was Spiderman related, because the alternative option of Wade just /leaving/…. No. He must have been threatened to come quietly, otherwise there would be a trail of severed limbs and property damage to follow.

His breath hitched in a sigh. “Wade, you promised not to be my Princess Peach. You’re so getting a tracking collar after this.”

He pulled out the prepaid phone he used to call the police while out hero-ing and punched in the card’s digits. The mechanical voice of a woman informed him that the number he had dialed was no longer in service.

Brows furrowed, he hung up. He looked at the card again, frowning when he recognized the area code.

“Wade, if you got body snatched by some bad guys in Harlem, I’ll punch them, then you, then whatever’s left of them again. Seriously, how cliche can they be?”  
…

Peter capped the sharpie with a sigh. Another street in the sector with that damn phone’s area code, and no sign of Wade. He scowled at the map tacked to his apartment wall, running a hand over his sleep deprived eyes. It had been a while since he had pulled this many all night-ers in a row, but if he wanted to keep his nine to five in the lab, he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Peter needed a new perspective.

Leaping to the ceiling, he felt his feet stick to the flakey paint, and began to pace.

“Now, if I were a secret villain lair, where would I hide?” He thought back to his gallery of kidnapers, spinning on his heel once he reached the far wall to not upset his momentum. Discounting those who had funding for phallic monuments on New York’s skyline, that left….

The hero swore. Profusely.

“I hate the sewers.”

The next night found Spiderman prying up manhole covers with the tips of his fingers, and leaping down into the dank tunnels below the city.

“Wade, when I find you, you are sleeping on the couch forever.” Peter grumbled, ankle deep in various liquids he didn’t want to contemplate the origin of.

Fishing in his belt for a flashlight, Peter clicked it on, and repressed a shudder as the shadows skittered away on way to many sets of legs.

Oh. Wait. 

“Hey!”

The human shaped shadow, formerly frozen like a rabbit, dashed away.

“Hey, wait! I just want to talk!” He shouted after the figure, wincing as he splashed through something unmentionable. “Ew, gross! I’m gonna have to burn this suit when I get home!”

He chased the terrified gasping breaths down, down, past steaming pipes and dripping walls, until all that guided him was the faint hope of success and the even fainter echoing footsteps.

Rounding the sewer corner, Peter stopped dead. 

At the end of the tunnel, a shanty village crowded atop what looked like an old storm drain catch that had it’s influent pipes blocked to prevent water entering. The cathedral like ceiling arched high overhead, lit with a conglomeration of christmas lights and bare bulbs. Just visible through the gloom, Peter could see the inhabitant’s faces… and scales, and spikes, multicolored epidermus, and in a few cases feathers.

Crossing one arm over his chest, he rested a hand on his masked chin ponderously. “Wade, you’ll never guess what I found out today. Those mole people you always told me about exist under New York. I wonder if they keep gators as pets?”

Carefully approaching one of the colorful downtrodden figures, Peter waved to get their attention. 

The girl, her hair a tangle of pink tentacles, looked up, mouth twisting defensively, until she caught sight of his mask. Her eyes widened. “You’re Spiderman!”

Peter’s head cocked to the side. “You know who I am?”

“Course I do!” The girl’s lively tone caused others to look over with droll interest. “You used to swing near my house in Queens, back when I-“ Her glee extinguished, and the appendages on her scalp writhed unhappily. “Well, back before I was a mutant, anyway.”

The hero paused at this.

Mutants and other super beings were, up until the recent alien invasion and leaked SHIELD files, kept under wraps and away from the public eye through a combination of people fearing being ostracized, and government conspiracies. Because of course SHIELD wouldn’t want the public to know about super powered individuals.

In his near decade long career catching petty thieves, and generally being considered an urban legend, Peter had come across an increasing number of strange and mysterious individuals just as fantastic and amazing as himself.

Usually, Spiderman would swing by whenever a police report reported any unusual individuals. However, the subjects of those reports always seemed to vanish whenever the hero arrived on the scene. Looked like he knew where they went.

“Don’t talk to him Shela,” a man with too pale to be translucent skin growled.

“But he’s Spiderman!”

“But he’s not one of us.”

Shela deflated, pink tentacles drooping. 

“I’m just looking for someone.” Peter cut in. “You guys haven’t happened to see a guy built like a model with the inability to stop talking, have you? He may or may not have been held captive by someone appropriately nefarious.”

The pale man snorted. “You surface dwellers all look the same to me.”

The hero grimaced. “Oh, ouch. I think I should feel offended, cuz if red and blue spandex doesn’t differentiate me, I might need to consider a costume redesign. I hear black is the new pink.”

Shela giggled. Pale man’s scowl deepened.

“Well, is there anyone down here I can ask who might know?” Peter continued.

Pink tentacles plucked at themselves. “Well…Calisto knows all the Morlocks. She might know.”

A bubble of excitement fluttered in the pits of his stomach. “And where can I find her?”

“That’s enough Shela,” the man growled, taking her arm and moving her behind his back before she could open her mouth. He turned on Peter, eyes glowing. “You want to talk to Calisto, she’s further along in the shelter up that ta ways. But I doubt she’ll help you.”

“I can be very persistent.” The hero’s beam could practically be seen through his mask. With a parting thanks he darted away.  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N: Not much for this chapter. It was getting long, so I cut the sewer scene in half. Apparently Marvel New York doesn’t worry about sewer gators so much as sewer mutants. Like an episode of Futurama…


	5. Morally Reprehensible

…

An hour of asking directions from mutants with varying levels of hostility saw Spiderman crawling through a surprisingly dry tunnel on his way to what he hoped was the leader of the Morlocks.

“H.G. Wells, eat your heart out.” He muttered, flash light skating over the brick and cement. “Though, wasn’t that what Morlocks did in the book, like, literally. Wade saw the remake, said it was awful compared to the original, but he would know. Or not. Movie adaptations su~ck!”

Shuffling echoed through the gloomy space. Lamenting that his costume didn’t have an attached light, and unconsciously designing a patch to fix this design flaw, Peter put the flashlight on the ground. The beam cast a circle of light partially around the opposite corner, providing just enough light to see twilight shapes by.

Scaling the tunnel wall, he crawled along the ceiling, web shooters at the ready. 

He needn’t have bothered, as the being around the corner was already thoroughly tied up. The spider dropped to the ground to get a closer look. The guy was certainly built like a model, and if the gag was any indication, was well endowed in the loquacious department. However, he was not the droid Peter was looking for.

Crouching down, Peter poked the guy in the arm. “Hey, you ok?”

The man startled to awareness, too many limbs straining against his bindings in the gloom. Blue eyes darted around the confined space, before settling on the hero. He made a muffled grunt, which Peter could guess the meaning of.

“I’ll let you go, but only if you promise not to hurt me. I’ve had, like, six other people down here try to alternately claw or peck my eyes out today, and I don’t want another.”

The man nodded.

“Great!” Reaching into his boot for the swiss army knife Wade gave him for his birthday, Peter snipped through the gag.

“You’re not with the Xmen.” The man accused, as the hero worked to cut through the rest of his bindings, which had the same consistency as zip ties.

“And you’re not my boo. Seems like we’re both experiencing disappointment today.” His sawing increased in fervor. “But maybe you can help me anyway. I’m looking for Callisto. I was told she was up this way.”

The final bind around the stranger’s legs snapped free, and he stood, shaking life back into all six of his limbs.

Peter whistled. “Nice wingspan.”

He smirked, feathers along his back rustling. “I’m Angel.” He said, holding out a hand.

“Spiderman.” Peter replied and took it.

“I always thought you were a hoax. Those pictures in the Bugle looked too good to not have been staged.”

“Ah haha, what can I say? They always catch my good side.”

The winged man didn’t smile, making him lose several potential friendship points in Peter’s book. 

The spidery hero tried again. “You look much too tanned to be one of the mole people. Can I ask what brings you to this side of New York?”

“I came down to ward Callisto about the hit put out on her.”

“And Callisto is…?”

“Not here, so it’s not important.”

“But you do know where she is.” 

Angel glanced at the hero from the corner of his eye. “How do I know you’re not with the guy who tied me up?”

“It’s like nothing I do will get people to trust me. Seriously, ten years a capturer of petty crooks and science experiments gone wrong, and you would think I would get some street cred with the big leagues.” Spiderman sighed. “At least I’ll always have fans in Queens.” He refocused on the winged man. “And besides, if I was with the other guy, I would have left you ball gagged in the corner. And before you say it’s a sly plot to have you take me to your leader, know that if I was with your mystery attacker, I would be with him wherever she is, and not here with you.”

The mutant smiled wryly. “You make a good point.” He turned to face the hero entirely. “Though, I’m curious as to why you’re looking for Calisto.”

“Nothing nefarious, cross my heart.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Well, if it is, you won’t last long around her anyways. Come on.”

With a gesture, Angel began striding down the tunnel, Spiderman just a step behind. The dank walls (because surprisingly dry in a sewer is still pretty wet) evolved steadily into brick and steel paneling, before the pair found themselves in front of a massive metal door. Peter prodded the welded seams, reminded of an old cold war exhibit his uncle had taken him to see in the Met as a child. 

The entrance stood partially open, and only took a quick shove from Angel to allow the duo room to enter. Inside, a woman with black hair and an eyepatch stood over an unconscious body, securely wrapped in familiar ties.

She looked up at their approach, single brow raised. “Angel.”

The blonde man’s eyes ticked from the woman to her prey. “I was on my way to warn you about this guy, but it looks like you’re on top of things.”

Her mouth didn’t quite twist into smile. “I was just about to go look for you. My would be attacker blabbed something about ‘taking down one of the Xmen’ so I should fear his power. Or maybe not, I wasn’t listening.”

“Takes more than than to keep me down.”

The woman didn’t smile again, and turned her attention to the bulky metal collar around the assassin’s neck. “He was quite apologetic, but every time he tried to stop going after me, he screamed in pain.”

“That happened during our fight as well.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I thought so. We’ve been finding a lot of people like him- mutants being coerced by collars like that.” Her eye turned hard. “And someone’s been snatching my people.”

“I’ll let the professor know. We might be able to send help.”

Peter, who had been lurking behind Angel’s impressive wingspan, rubbed at his ear. A high pitched electrical whine squealed through the air.

Under the woman’s boot, a red light on the downed figure’s collar began to blink.

“Fuck it’s a bomb!” Peter totally didn’t scream, as his spider-sense began to drill a migraine into his temples. 

The hero immediately webbed the two mutants, who had yet to gather their wits after his….exclamation, and pulled them across the bunker atrium and out of the steel doors. They stumbled as he flung them into the hall, and threw his considerable strength at the vault door. 

An inch before it sealed shut, a loud explosion and wet splatter rocked the sewer. Peter held the door against the concussive force, feeling the slicing patter of shrapnel imbed into the other side.

When all had quieted, he slumped to the floor. “Thank god for cold war era engineering.”

The woman recovered first, rising to her feet and striding to the red and blue hero. “And who are you?”

“Madam Callisto I presume?” He waved weakly from the floor. “Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman at your service.”

“I’ve heard of you.” 

He struggled to sit up. “Always nice to have a fan.”

Her expression remained unamused, but Peter swore she looked less murderous. “And what business do you have here, Spiderman?”

He pulled himself up the wall, till he was mostly versicle. “I was looking for, uh- You haven’t seen anyone down here who shouldn’t, have you? Potentially giant lizards, black slime monsters, uh, guys with goldfish bowels over their heads? Possibly with a hostage, with more snarky comebacks than me?”

Her dark brow raised. “No.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I thought not.”

“Sorry I cannot help find who you are looking for.”

The hero shook his head, arms crossed over his chest as he began picking at the kevlar stitching of his costume. “No. It’s fine. I’ll just find another lead. No big.”

Angel approached, feathers still ruffled, but more or less recovered from the blast. “In the meantime, we need to investigate this mutant trafficking.”

Peter put up his hands to ward off responsibility. “I’ld love to help, but I’m in the middle of my own Mario quest, and got way too invested in saving the princess to swap out to a Bioshock mystery. But I’ll keep my eye out for blinky dog collars.”

The Xman nodded sharply, eyes far away. “We’ll be in touch.” He nodded farewell. “Callisto.” Then spread his impressive wings and flew away.

Spiderman gaped. “How the can he fly in such an enclosed space?”

“Practice.” Callisto’s smile was too amused to be called fond.

“…he didn’t leave me his number.”

The amusement eclipsed other emotions as she turned her gaze to the hero. “I’ll give you my email.”

“You get internet down here?”

“Of course, it’s New York. Wifi is everywhere.”  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:  
> So the Morlocks are mutants that live in the sewers of New York in cannon. Spidey really is running in the wrong direction with what he thinks happened to his boo. Also, technically Angel and Castillo didn’t have a thing this nice in comics, but Angel just kinda jumped into the scene without my say so, and decided to flirt….so yeah.


	6. Ultron and Team Red

…

Peter had always imagined that his first time meeting the Avengers face to face would be in the midst of some world ending crisis trying to chew its way through downtown Manhattan. 

He wasn’t expecting to walk into work and almost run into the (perfect) sculpted torso of a blonde bombshell skulking in the building’s cafeteria in the atrium.

“Oh, excuse me!” The face that started the sexual crisis of Peter and probably many other citizens of New York said, adorably contrite.

The wall crawler’s jaw went slack.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Captain America’s voice was a light baritone that tickled the ear like the caress of a bald eagle’s feather.

Peter realized he was expected to reply. “…no. I’m all right. Uh, sir.”

Captain (America!) smiled (dimples!) politely. “I’m sorry to trouble you after almost knocking you over, but you couldn’t point me in the direction of the cafe, could you? I’m waiting for a friend of mine, and the receptionist recommended I wait there.”

“Is the building going to blow up?” Peter spouted, mind racing as to all the reasons a national icon would be in Oscorp. “The Green Goblin hasn’t resurfaced, has he? Is this a super secret Avengers undercover thing!?” 

America (comma Captain) blinked, nonplussed at the babble. “Uh, no. My team and I only just returned to New York, and my friend Tony insisted on taking me out for a ‘real slice of New York Pizza’. But he forgot he had a meeting with the head of the engineering department here, or something. It kinda went over my head.”

In light of the safe harbor of technical know how, Peter’s fangasm at breathing the same air as Captain (Nazi Punching) America eased enough for him to not vomit words all over the conversation. “That must be the prosthetic devision. I think there’s a joint project to incorporate more light weight power sources into artificial hands.”

“Really?” Captain America looked sharply interested.

“It’s not my project, but I hear it’s being used to help veterans.” 

A somberly wistful shadow the spidery hero thought he recognized clouded the other man’s expression. “That’s… really great.”

Peter fidgeted with his cuff, weight shifting from foot to foot. “I’m really sorry, but I promised someone I would do something, and I don’t mean to make you feel weird-“

Captain (Fuck Yeah!) America smiled benignly, raising a hand as he stepped aside. “It’s all right, don’t let me keep you.”

Peter pressed his lips together, fingers drumming on his elbows. “Ok, just, again, I’m really sorry sir!” The spidery young man then darted around the hero, grabbing coping a backside feel as he went, before running as if the Red Skull was on his heels, leaving a stunned american icon in his wake.  
…

Elsewhere, Bucky Barnes jerked as if struck, eyes darting wildly around the room. His fingers clenched, and a high pitched scream, different from the usual high pitched screams in that it was wrathful instead of terrified, began wailing in the back of his head like a siren.

Somewhere, some punk was gonna get it.

The Winter Soldier shook his head sharply, pressing the heel of his flesh palm to his forehead.

Where had that thought come from?  
…

“So, the Avengers are back in town.” Peter hung up side down from a church gargoyle, swinging like a pendulum from a web line, as he contemplated how to go about his weekend patrol. “Why do I have the most ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach?”

His spider sense began blaring, just as something rocketed past the hero’s perch. “Ah, that’s probably why.” He squinted after the retreating blur. “Was that one of Iron Man’s suits?”

He could hear the screams coming from further towards the heart of the city, where the infamous Stark Tower cut the late night skyline like a sleek fedora. However, the web slinger was slightly less concerned about the billionaire playboy’s house, and more worried over the seemingly unprompted army of silver bots wreaking structural havoc on the city while trying to reach said tower.

Seriously, Spidey loved and supported the NYPD (when they weren’t trying to arrest him) but one would think that they would realize that bullets only made the robot army angry, prompting them to blast cop cars into smoking piles of slag, before flying away.

Luckily, their friendly neighborhood Spiderman was trying to minimize the mounting death toll as best he could.

Leaping from his perch, the spidery hero swung through the streets. Landing on the side of an office building, he shot a web to catch the back of a robot baring down on a straight backed officer with a handgun.

“Hey, Tintin, blue lives matter! So, back away from the civil servants!”

Peter attempted to pull the robot down, but it simply glared at him with red eyes, before taking off into the sky.

“Shiiiiiiiiiiii-“ Peter swore as he was pulled into the air after it. “Not how I wanted to spend my day!” He shouted over the wind. “But hey, wait till I tell Wade I get to cross off fighting a robot army off my hero bingo card!”

Arm over arm, the hero climbed up the line, until he was close enough to fire a glob of web at the robot’s stabilization system, without the projectile being blown off course.

The robot immediately spun out of control. 

As his stomach tried to lodge itself in his larynx, Peter wondered whether he had really thought this plan all the way through. Before his ride had an unfortunate meeting with gravity, the hero leapt away, shooting a line at another deadly bot in need of being smashed. 

However, it seemed that these robots were not only legion, but shared the same processing code hive mind or something, because when Spiderman tried to replicate his climb and shoot maneuver, the robot lashed out.

Of course, the metallic fist connected, snapping Spiderman’s grip from his web line, sending the hero hurtling through the air (and a couple unfortunate bits of architecture) towards the ground.

As he desperately shot out web lines just as fast as they broke to slow his descent, Peter decided that if he ever- no when he did tell Wade this story, he would edit this part out.

He didn’t manage to narrate more than, ‘There were five, no, like ten huge metal giants that I had to fight off single handed-‘ before he slammed into the side of a building, and slid into unconsciousness.  
…

Peter woke with a start, as a groan, which was not his own, pierced his concussed haze. He tried to sit up, and only managed a painful moan as his spine protested. Beside him, the dumpster’s other occupant roused as well.

“Didn’t think this dumpster was occupied,” came a wheezing grunt. Peter squinted, and could just make out the black half mask covering the top of the man’s face.

“It’s ok, I’ve only been her for…what time is it?”

“After midnight, last I checked.”

“Thanks. I’ve only been here for like an hour, probably. Unless it’s been more than a day. But you can totally join me in the trash man.”

“Thanks.” The reply was so sarcastic it burned. Peter liked the man immediately.

He held out his hand sideways into the other’s space. “Spiderman.”

The man chuckled. “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

The hero hummed. “Doesn’t really roll off the tongue too well.”

“I don’t know who to call to change it.”

Peter let his limb flop back into the trash. “So, how did you find your way into this bed of,” he perused the refuse around him, “Used takeout and questionably stained couch cushions?”

“Something attacked Stark Tower, and the Avengers left town after blowing everything up again. I was helping people get to safety. Got knocked off a roof when one of those flying things threw a police cruiser across the city.”

“Ouch.” Spiderman commiserated. “Figures. Those guys have no manners. Isn’t there something in the super hero bro code about letting your nemesis's into another vigilante’s turf?” 

“I suppose that means you’re breaking the ‘bro code’ as well, since I’ve seen you swinging around Hell’s Kitchen.”

“That was one time. Twice if you include this. But in my defense, the first time I was chasing a purse thief, and this time I had no control over where the evil robot threw me.”

The Devil sat up with a pained intake of breath, and, with Herculean, effort jumped from the smelly nest of cushions onto adjoining the slimy alleyway. “I guess I’ll let it slide this once.”

Spiderman followed his example, and managed to heave himself over the dumpster’s side. “Ouch.” He panted. “So…wanna have a team up incase aliens attack again?” 

The Devil’s head turned towards him almost imperceptibly, lips twisting. “I don’t fight robot armies.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No, but you do save people, and so do I. So, until this…whatever blows over, I think we might be able to save more people if keep ahead of the Avenger’s ballgame, and find out whether we should make a call in for the city to be evacuated or something, when whatever their doing inevitably blows up.”

“…fine. But I’m not fighting any robots, aliens, or whatever miscellaneous overpowered thing that comes our way.”

“Just in it to save civilians. Gotcha.” The red and blue hero leaned in conspiratorially. “Just so you know, I started out saying the same thing, then I actually came face to face with said miscellaneous super powered things. I’m curious to see how long you’ll last.”

The Devil scowled.  
…

Thus it was that Spiderman and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen spent the next week huddled together on rooftops, alternately spying on the Avenger’s Tower and catching purse thieves.

The black masked vigilante wasn’t very talkative, but he seemed tolerably amused at Spiderman’s stream of consciousness chatter. His rare dry comments made the younger man laugh.

Spiderman had dug up a pair of military grade binoculars from somewhere, which allowed the duo to observe the city while parked on the highest building in the Devil’s neighborhood. The black clad man refused to leave his home turf, and Spiderman seemed content, so long as he was able to help somewhere.

“Lights are back on at Stark Tower. And- holy shit, I think it just got struck by lightning?” The red hero brandished the binoculars. “Wanna take a look?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” He returned to observing the skyline. “Think we should check it out?”

“No,” came the Devil’s immediate reply. “Those idiots can handle their own problems. My job is to make sure people don’t get hurt by their stupidity.”

Spiderman hummed, and adjusted the focus on his binoculars. “And there goes their jet. This means they’ve gone off to face the impending disaster, or we’re all about to blow up and they’re running.”

The other vigilante snorted. “Good riddance. We don’t need the kind of trouble they bring.”

“Oh yes, I much prefer our kind of trouble.”

“Don’t group me in with you. You’ve had your fair share of fighting giant lizards and electric men in the streets.”

“I thought the government covered all that up? And it’s not like I advertised my need for a super villain nemesis, I was just the only one who could do anything about those guys.”

“Just keep it out of Hell’s Kitchen, and we won’t have a problem.”

Spiderman perked up. “Does this mean I can swing by as long as it’s not business?”

The Devil’s scowl deepened.  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:  
> Hey Matt. You’ll be dragged into Team Red kicking and screaming. There’s no escape. 0w0
> 
> Wade kept a lot of his stuff from his military days. That’s where Peter got the binoculars.


	7. MGH

…

The continued lack of ransom and threats was causing a leaden weight to roll in the hero’s stomach, as the likelihood of his love’s disappearance being Spiderman related was looking less and less likely. 

His mind resolutely refused to acknowledge the ticking timer in the back of his skull, precisely attuned to count down a vividly remembered doctor’s prognosis. He would find Wade, even if it was only his-

Peter pressed his knuckles into his forehead, eyes squeezed painfully shut. He inhaled, letting the air flow through his lungs like a stream of cool water against a fevered ember, before letting it out smoothly. He did it again, washing the insides of his ribcage with empty calm, and released it. The fist against his head dropped.

Maybe he was going about this in the wrong way. 

Pulling up his laptop, Peter began searching through the news sites he had access to via his still active work email from his old job with the Bugle, looking for any mentions of missing persons, before narrowing his search to those only with terminal illnesses.

After clicking past a news article about a man being killed by a zamboni, he hit gold in a footnote in an article on environmental justice and potential HIV victims not having access to proper preventative medical care. The reporter had interviewed a morgue worker, who mentioned the rate of John Does found on the streets had decreased in the past few months.

That was only a good sign within the context of Peter’s investigation. Missing people usually indicated…nothing savory.

Grabbing his hoodie, Peter decided to head in the direction of the Metro General Hospital mentioned in the article. If he was lucky the interviewed worker might be in. If not, spider powers made it frighteningly easy to break into office records.  
…

Metro General, being a public clinic in a poorer side of town, attracted a certain type of loiterer. Peter skulked on the street corner near a few such individuals, hood pulled low as he contemplated his siege on the hospital.

A commotion broke out behind him, as one guy was ribbed by his friends.

“Guy with /spikes/ comin outta his back, man!” He babbled, insistently.

Another laughed unkindly. “Dude, you be trippin.”

“I wasn’t! Much. But not enough to see what I saw!”

“Dude, last time it was a lady who could jump twelve stories, this time it’s an evil hospital. What’s it gonna be next?”

“But I did see it! There was, like, a bunch of sick people! It was creepy man!”

Peter turned around. “Hey.”

The gaggle turned to him defensively. “What?”

The hero squared his shoulders from his normally hunched posture. “You said you saw a bunch of sick people being taken somewhere?”

“What’s it to you?” The guy’s friends already started backing off to some other street corner.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Well you’re not gonna find people there, man. It was crazy! Guy with spikes, fo real!”

Peter tried to refocus the guy’s attention. “But you did see them, right?”

“Bunch of sick people and doctors going all Silent Hill on them, yeah man. It was creepy!”

“Can you show me where?”

“I wouldn’t go back there if you paid me, man.”

“Tell me then!”

“It was just by the docks, near the waterfront. Some big warehouse.”

“Any more specific?”

“Naw man, I was high. Can’t read street signs fo shit like that.”

“Right, thanks.” Peter said, already planning the route he would have to take to make it to the waterfront.

One swing through the city later saw the hero kicking at cold ashes. If there ever was anything here, it burned down ages ago, along with a block’s worth of warehouses.

He nudged through the debris with his booted foot, ignoring the white which might be bone to focus on the twisted remains of some kind of metallic equipment. A cut circlet of steel caught his eye, and the hero frowned as he picked it up.

The circle resolved itself into a frighteningly familiar collar. Peter made a note to contact Callisto, since Angel the Xman was terrible at leaving behind contact information.

“Wade, are you getting me wrapped up in another mystery? Couch for life. Seriously.”

Carefully putting the potential explosive down, he continued to shift through the ashes. A tube like blob of glass caught his attention, and he picked it up. Squinting, the hero wiped grime off the partially melted container’s side, trying to make out the warped serial number.

“Oscorp MGH D34D9007.” He scowled. “Guess you were right about me working for an evil mastermind, Wade. But, on the bright side, I’m my own inside man.” He tucked the tube into his pocket.  
…

Typing the tube’s number into the Oscorp database brought up an error message, and a few documents with more blacked out writing than actual words. One stolen security card and a round of hacking later, saw an encrypted file on the hero’s desktop.

It was an old military contract Oscorp had working on super soldier formulas during the Cold War, prompted by some classified event in Cuba only mentioned in the vaguest of terms, no matter how hard he searched. That starting point led to the research creating Peter’s lucky spider bite and…

“Mutant growth hormone?” Peter muttered to himself, shifting through the files.

It all traced back to some guy called Dr. Kilbrew, who, according to the leaked SHIELD files, had strong ties to their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum, thus was probably a HYDRA agent or something.

However, when SHIELD fell, a fire was reported to have broken out at this guy’s lab, killing him and destroying all of his research. Nothing was recovered.

“Well, that’s not oddly convenient and suspicious at all.” Peter growled.

And apparently the labs he headed studying MGH, somewhere up in Canada, mysteriously vanished off the grid. Unless one looked at utility and manufacture payments and permits, which Peter did.

“Thank you Hazardous Material Transport Act.” Apparently a shipment of F grade mixed waste was transported to a treatment facility in New York every few months to be disposed, though it didn’t take a genius to question why it had to be moved several hundred miles, instead of being disposed of closer to the facility. The only other place the stuff was sent to was some kind of lab in Sokovia.

“Looks like I’ve got my lead.”  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Getting closer Petey boy, but missing the mark.
> 
> Short chapter, I know, but it wanted to end here. Peter’s not exactly the poster child of mental health.


	8. Murder and Mystery

… 

To: callipsoblack@mail  
From: spideralias@mail

I think my princess might be in your castle after all. Know anything about MGH?  
…

To: spideralias@mail  
From: callipsoblack@mail

Sent a note to our mutual angel, will let you know what he says.  
…

That a few weeks ago, and Peter still hadn’t hear back from the leader of the Morlocks. He tried to navigate the sewers of Harlem to find her enclave again. All he got was another costume in need of burning, and the new address of those puppy sized rats which once resided under his bed.

So, asking the Xmen for help with the whole mutant growth hormone thing was a no go.

Maybe if he just thought really really loudly the rumored psychic leader of the team would hear him…

The hero leaned back against his favorite gargoyle. “What do you think Bruce, is it worth finding the Xmen on the off chance they might help me find Wade, or should I just keep trying to find him by myself and not waste time on a side quest?”

The stone creature remained silent. 

Peter sighed. “Thats what I thought.”

After uncovering Oscorp’s past involvement with MGH, Spiderman had paid a little visit to the waste treatment facility listed in the paperwork. What he found was burnt out remains of the warehouse he had already investigated, closing the loop of that lead back in on itself.

He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Wade, where are you?” His hands slid down till they covered his face for the length of a sigh, before the hero slapped his cheeks lightly. “No. No more angst-ing.” He let his hands rest there for another moment, before clambering to his feet. 

“Let’s go see if the Devil wants to deal in information trade. Maybe he knows the Xmen? Oh! Maybe he’s a mutant! Would that be rude to ask? I’m not gonna ask. But still, maybe he knows something! Yeah! Ok! We’ll do that! No problem!” Inflating his lungs to their full capacity, the hero exhaled a steady stream of air, before leaping off the building.

One swing across the city, and he landed on the spires of Hell’s Kitchen’s tall Catholic cathedral. Leaning over the gutter to glance at the street, Spiderman pillowed his head on his arms. 

“I wonder how one goes about summoning the Devil? Should I have brought voodoo cards, or will he just show up if I keep speaking his name-“

A heavy pair of feet landed behind him. Peter totally did not squeak as he whirled around, heart racing.

“Jesus! My Aunt was right! Now if only other people were so good as to come when called!”

Daredevil’s lips did not even twitch in a semblance of a smile, but the young hero was sure that his brows would have been raised in amusement under his cowl if he could see them. Speaking of-

“Ni~ce costume!” He sang, stepping closer. “Much better than the dread pirate Roberts look! you don’t know how many times I wanted to call you Wesley!” 

“What do you want Spiderman?”

“Can’t I swing by to see my favorite red vigilante?”

Daredevil’s scowl deepened.

Spiderman backed up a step. “….A~nyway. Hey, you don’t happen to know the Xmen, do you?”

The scowl softened slightly under confusion. “No.”

“Damn, there goes that,” the hero said under his breath, before addressing his companion again. “Ok. Have you seen anyone weird? Maybe a vigilante like us, or with wings, or tentacles? Possibly vanishing into the sewer when you give chase?”

Despite Peter’s light tone, he could feel his heart sink, as this last lead burnt to an end.

The other man’s frown lessened further into a neutral ponderous line. “…Some new mask is cutting his way through the underground.” Daredevil’s voice was gravely. “No discernible pattern, but enough of the hits have been in Hell’s Kitchen to become a nuisance.” 

Spiderman tugged at his web shooters. “Who are his targets?”

“Human traffickers, we think.” The other red hero tilted his head. “You know something about it?”

“Maybe.” His pulse pounded in his ears (wadewadewadewadewade). “Have they found the people who were being moved?”

“No, but one of my contacts mentioned a man in a suit asking about sick people on the streets.” Daredevil’s voice growled.

“You have contacts?”

“He was apart of a Russian gang I took issue with.”

“Oh, that kind of contact. I was worried you might be going all super spy on me for a minute, though I admit, you might be able to pull of Sean Connely with your jaw line.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “So, any idea where this suit guy might pop up next?”

“No.”

He could practically feel his posture wilting, before Daredevil spoke again.

“But I can tell you where he has been.”

Peter very nearly kissed him.  
…

The next day found Spiderman swinging over the city, spirits high with the heady hope of a new lead. This one would pan out, he was sure of it. It would. It had to.

“Wade, I swear, we’re gonna have a long talk about getting into stranger’s cars when they offer you candy w-when we get home.” He grit his teeth, firing another web line, which sent him rocketing towards a tangle of cement roadways and overpasses. 

Sant N Pepa blared from amid the concrete tangle, as someone jammed unabashedly to the lyrics.

The tenor was hauntingly familiar.

Shooting out another web line, Spiderman swung back over the highway, but the voice had gone. In its place a hand held radio remained, still blaring hip hop. Picking up the device, Peter felt his heart stutter.

Taped the side was a strip of tan with blocky first grade handwriting scrawling out a name that haunted the hero’s thoughts.

“Wade?”

No. That would be too much. Wade was d- detained by some nefarious villain’s plot. A plot that Spiderman would unravel, to stop anyone else losing- To find his- To get resolution to- To be able to burry his- 

He- He had to- The lead. He had to find the end of this lead.

Dazed, Peter didn’t notice his body automatically slip the strap of the radio over his wrist, and shoot out a web line to continue his trek across the city. In the far distance there was a crash, but his mind was spinning too much to notice.  
…

“Hey man, you need something?”

Dressed in jeans and a hoodie, the hero started. “No.”

“Then get off my corner, I got actual customers.”

Peter backed away from the speaker, pulling his hood further up over his head as he turned down an alleyway. His costume was left webbed behind a gargoyle in the not as bad parts of town, because little white kid walking around a bad neighborhood is just asking to get is bag appropriated by a thief or searched by a police officer. His web shooters were left behind as well, despite their usefulness, since swinging without tall enough buildings was rather difficult.

After Daredevil had given him all the information he had on the suspicious suited man asking around for terminally sick people, Peter had mapped the locations where he was sighted on some GIS software he appropriated from work. Most seemed to congregate around this area of Hell’s Kitchen, and the hero had spent the worse parts of a day skulking around street corners.

A near silent whisper in the back of him mind wondered if he was grasping at straws, and would be better off giving up on- No. He clenched his jaw, rolling his shoulders to shake off the notion.

A black sedan, too shiny and well kept to be from this neighborhood, drove down the cracked road. The gaze of every inhabitant followed it, as the vehicle rolled to a stop several blocks down, in front of a derelict building. A man got out of the back seat, clad in a sharp blue suit. 

Peter inched closer, pulse frozen in his veins.

The man checked something on his phone screen, before going into the establishment through the doorless front entrance.

Casting a quick glance around, Peter ducked into an alleyway and scaled the fire escape, coming out onto the derelict building’s roof. 

Inside, just past the cracked window, Peter heard a bland voice speaking amiably. He grimaced. That guys sounded like a bad infomercial. 

Another voice, hoarse and coughing replied to whatever was said. Peter risked peering over the window ledge, just in time to see infomercial man smiled blandly, tucking a card into the coughing man’s blanket, before walking away.

Ducking back behind a broken air conditioning unit, the hero watched the suited man re-enter his sleek black car, and drive away. He waited half a heartbeat, before dropping to the ground. Hesitating at the doorless entry, Peter kicked aside a few needles, before ascending to the room he had spied earlier.

Inside, a pile of blankets huddled in the corner of the room.

“Boy, I’m popular today.” The pile said with a cough. “You here with miracle cures as well?”

Peter stepped into the room, hands tucked into his pockets. “That guy who was just here is full of it. He made a friend of mine the same offer, and no one’s seen him since. I’m trying to find him.”

“And you need this.” The man flashed the card between his fingers.

He nodded. “Yep. You wanna trade?”

The man smiled, pained gasp leaving his lungs in a parody of laughter. “Naw man, it’s cool. Nothing anyone can do for me, and I’ve made peace with that. I’ll be seeing my boy soon, least I can do is help you see yours.” He held out the card.

Peter took it reverently. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As soon as he left the building, the young hero ran a few blocks, ducking into the subway to use one of the pay-phones to dial the number on the black card.

Infomercial man’s voice grated out of the speaker. “Mr. Walter, it’s so good to hear from you. Have you reconsidered our offer?”

Peter coughed, trying to put in the same lung wrenching phlegm inducing tremor as he could. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. A car will be by to pick you up immediately. Where shall we send it?”

He muttered off an address a few blocks from where he stood. Infomercial man gave a too placid affirmative, and hung up.  
…

Peter hunched behind an air conditioning unit on the rooftops, hoodie pulled over his head to mask his face.

The same black sedan pulled up to the street corner. It paused for a handful of minutes, before Mr. Infomercial got out and walked around the corner, casually searching for his supposed client.

Peter memorized the car’s license plate, taking an extra shot with his disposable phone’s camera and emailing it to himself, just to be sure.

The suited man got back into the car, which waited another moment, before driving away.

Pulling the strings of his hoodie tight, the hero tensed his legs and leapt over the rooftops after the vehicle.

The chase was on.  
…  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> This could end up really good or really bad. And I might have fudged some un-aliving of henchmen… let’s just pretend Mr. Infomercial didn’t get killed until later….or this is a new infomercial man. Yeah, let’s go with that.


	9. Watching and Wading

…

Peter pulled his hoodie low over his face as he broke free of the last line of buildings tall enough to roof hop. Landing on the street, he eyed where the black car vanished into the distance into the hulking shape just visible among the wreckage of old warehouses.

During the debacle a while back, when giant flying airships were released into the sky like paper cranes before being brought down by Captain (Fuck Yeah!) America, it was discovered that SHIELD-? HYDRA-? SHYDRA, had more than just the main base of operations in the nation’s capitol. Several were located on the west coast near LA, one in Chicago, and one in downtown New York. 

Of course, by this point the public was well informed enough to freak out considerably when potential death from above could be rained down upon them, so the national guard and more acronym organizations swept in to take care of the bases. However, while excavating the New York site, something went wrong (or someone was being an idiot), causing the one helicarrier in the base to manage to partially launch itself, before crashing on top of what was optimistically labeled as an abandoned industrial area.

Legislation was still arguing over who was liable for cleaning up the super secret government mess, so the ship was left to decay in it’s self made wasteland.

Peter couldn’t help the whistle that escaped his lips at the sight of the downed helicarrier. “Where do these secret spy people get all those fabulous toys?” He sighed, visualizing just how far he would need to walk. “Wade, you better not be in another fucking castle.”

Several tedious minutes of walking later found the spidery hero gaping up at the hulking monstrosity of metal in front of him. “How the hell do I get inside of this thing?”

The little voice in the back of his head, which spoke more frequently with the voice of his lover, quipped, ‘that’s what she said.’

Just as the hero decided to kick off his shoes and risk crawling up the side of the ship, a shout alerted him to approaching company. Through a hole in the ship’s hull, a group of ten or so masked soldiers wielding rifles marched out, each with their weapon trained on him. 

“Look guys, I don’t want any trouble-“ Peter tried to say, but his words were cut off as his spider sense began screaming. He leapt to the side, just managing to avoid a hail of bullets. Wishing he had his web shooters, the hero tucked and rolled, lashing out with a leg to knock the knees of his attacker, before spinning back to his feet in a display of acrobatics. “But apparently you guys do, that’s cool, that’s cool.”

The other gunmen backed up a step, hesitating on the triggers of their guns.

A grin broke out on Peter’s face. “Aw, you guys all scared of little ol’ me?”

“Stand down,” barked a woman’s voice. Immediately the gunmen backed away, as a dark haired figure chewing on a match exited the wreckage.

“Uh, hi.” The hero said. “I gotta say, the welcoming committee you’ve got here sucks. Where’s your boss so I can report you?”

Her answering smirk was not pleasant. Knuckles cracking, the woman lunged at the hero.

Peter dodged out of the way. “I was always told never to hit a lady.” He kicked at the back of her knees, and felt like he slammed his foot into a brick wall. “Ouch! But I don’t think that was why!”

Taking advantage of his unexpected pain, the woman whirled around, planting her knee on the hero’s chest.

Peter gasped as his ribs protested the treatment, creaking with more than enough force to crack, despite his just managing to catch her limb to soften the blow. He jerked to the side, throwing the woman off to slam into some solid looking metal debris. However, before he could run, the woman recovered, and leapt, trapping him in a choke hold.

“Wow, you’re pretty strong!” Peter quipped, struggling in her grasp, sides flaring.

“So are you.” A new man exited the ship and waltzed over, hands casually in his pockets. “Unexpectedly so.”

“What can I say, I eat my Wheeties.”

The man scowled, but the expression lightened as he took in the hero’s face. “Mr. Parker!” His smile would not have looked out of place on a very pleasant shark. “I’ve been looking for you! You’re a tough man to find, for a lab rat. You can call me Ajax.”

“Can’t ever say I’ve been this popular, though if this is what it’s like, I’m glad to have avoided it in high school.”

“Aw, you have a sense of humor too.” The smile twisted, and he motioned for the woman to carry Peter into the ship. “Let’s see if we can fix that.”

“Better villains than you have tried to shut me up. I’d like to see you try.” The hero gasped as he was thrown against a metal table and strapped down.

“Cute. Wilson said the same thing, before I killed him.”

Peter jerked against the leather restraints to claw at the smarmy face, but they held fast. Ajax, ignoring his struggles, hummed, pleased, as he found whatever he was looking for on the table. He turned back to the trapped hero, a IV in his hand, which he slid into the other’s vein with medical precision.

“Now, I don’t know what this will do to someone who already has some powers.” The smile on his face could not have looked more disconcertingly polite. “But won’t it just be fun to find out?”

Peter screamed at the orange mutagen filtered through his veins.  
…

The hero started awake. He couldn’t breathe. His sides fluttered against the swollen pain of his cracked ribs, but no matter how they worked, his lungs continued to starve.

Peter’s eyes cracked open. Glass domed above him, curving down around to seal him inside a clear box. He could make out Ajax shouting, and a red clad figure snarking something back, but Peter’s oxygen starved brain couldn’t align the disjointed words into any sort of coherency.

Wrists strained against the leather restraints, but his muscles barely twitched.

His throat worked in a silent scream. He was going to die.

The red figure suddenly lunged, throwing his sword. Ajax dodged, and the stranger’s hurled projectile slammed through the glass, prompting a rush of air to rush into the box. Peter gasped, heady feeling still present, but fast abating. He pulled at the straps again, and it gave just enough for him to rub the bindings against the sharp side of the life saving katana.

Kicking out, Peter’s foot connected with the metal frame of his prison. The steel bent under the blow, causing the lock to warp open. Air rushed into the glass box, and he greedily gasped in lungful after lungful.

Beyond, he could hear gunfire and the parried clanging of fists and metal beating against one another.

His head hurt, and he was seeing triple, but Peter wrenched the sword free of the glass cage to stumble towards the commotion.

A red an black clad body furiously lashed out at Ajax, who’s expression held none of the mania one would expect of such an evil individual.

“Yeah?” The red man was snarling as the villain bore down on him with a dagger. “Well, Francis’s mama so ugly, even Hello Kitty said goodbye.”

Peter’s heart (wadewadewadewadewadewadewadewade) nearly stopped. Swallowing, he lifted his arm as much as his cracked ribs would allow, and slashed the sword in his hand across Ajax’s back.

The man growled in annoyance at being knocked back, and whirled to land his foot squarely into Peter’s side.

He screamed and fell back, just as the red man took advantage of his opponent’s distraction to kick him across the helicarrier. The familiar silhouette made to move towards the injured hero, but Peter brushed him off. 

“I’m fine!” He panted, letting the sword fall from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground, in favor of clutching his side. “Just my ribs. Go get that jackass!”

His rescuer hesitated, but nodded sharply once, and stalked away.

Air hissed through Peter’s teeth. In. Out. I-in. Out-t. The black spots in his vision abated to just a hazy pain filled glow. Through the high pitched ringing in his ears, he heard gunshots and shouting. Time swooped in and out of his grasp. The temptation to close his eyes grew.

Maybe just for a-

For the second time, Peter started awake. The helicarrier was shaking, and he could hear explosions in the near distance. He tried to get to his feet, but couldn’t move past a pained few inches, before sinking back.

A familiar red suit darted towards him across the tilting ship. “Hi! You wouldn’t happen to have your web slingers on you, would you?”

Peter shook his head, teeth grit. “Was under cover.”

“Right.” The red clad man sighed. “Then this is going to be slightly harder to survive.”

“What?” But the taller man was already pulling the injured hero to his feet. He threw him back into the glass box, which he then threw off a several story drop. Peter would have screamed about the red clad man being an idiot, but his concussion was acting in conjunction with his certainly at least cracked ribs to incapacitate the hero. 

Next thing he knew, a silver man was lifting debris off of his prison, and he was being pulled back into the cool February air by a teenager in a yellow suit.

Peter coughed shallowly, but managed to stay on his feet.

The red wearing man stood nearby, seeming to be checking the empty barrel of a tiny gun in his hand.

“Wade?”

He looked up. “Hey baby boy.”

Peter took two steps. Wade held out his arms unsurely, but his expectation of a hug was quickly dismantled when the hero punched him sharply on the shoulder.

“You’ve been the new mask this whole time, /and you didn’t come find me/? Do you know how many sewers I crawled through looking for you? I’ll tell you: ALL OF THEM. I went through every storm drain and subway tunnel in Harlem, because I thought you got kidnaped by mole people with a grudge against Spiderman, and here I find you’ve been running around New York on some crazed mission- I had to learn about you from Daredevil!- and why were you avoiding me, you idiot, I was so worried, and thank fuck you’re ok!”

Spidey’s tirade cut off as the buildup of waterworks threatened to spill past his eyes. He made to wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, but grimaced at the grime coating it.

“…I swear I had a good reason?”

“Shut up. You’re sleeping on the couch forever when we get home.” The hero sniffed. “Now get over here so I can kiss your dumb face!” He made to reach for his lover’s red mask.

Deadpool hesitated a step back. “Unfortunately, my face might be a bit more dumb than you remember. Some might even say haunting.”

Peter’s brow furrowed, and he lowered his hands. “You didn’t get a tattoo did you? I thought we agreed if you ever got one it would be a tramp stamp that said ‘Fly to the Spider’.”

“Getting one of those might be a bit hard too.” His head turned to shout at the mountain of rubble. “Thanks again Francis!”

Peter took a step forwards. “Wade?”

The merc’s head swung back to focus on his lover, shoulders tensing. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, before affecting a careless shrug. “You know I can’t say no to you baby boy.”

Careful of his ribs, the hero raised his hands to the back of the other’s head, fingers finding where the mask connected to the rest of the suit, and pulling it off.

He snorted. 

“Is that Wolverine?”

Wade grinned around the cut out face stapled to his chin and forehead. “No, it’s Mr. Most Sexy Man circa 2008.”

Chuckling, Peter plucked the last barrier separating him from his favorite pair of hazel eyes. 

“Sorry it’s not what you were expecting,” Wade muttered, gaze downcast.

Peter caught his cheek. “Come here you idiot.”

There have been many kisses shared in the world, and this one made it solidly among the top twenty. It climbed further into the top ten charts when cheesy eighties music began to play.

The hero drew back for a breath, to see the red clad merc holding up his cell phone, thumb still on the play button. He chuckled, eyes meeting Wade’s, finally.

“God I love you.”

The corners of his scared face twitched in a repressed smile. “Ditto.”

“Ghost again? You know what, I don’t even care anymore.” Wrapping his arms around his love’s neck, Peter pulled him back down.

Much, much later, back in an apartment that was familiar despite being cleaned, the couple cuddled on the lumpy couch, mindful of Peter’s injured ribs despite their affection.

“So,” Peter said, coming up for air. “I met Captain America.”

Wade gaped. “No way!”

“Yeah way.”

“It it everything we’ve ever dreamed about an more?”

Peter flexed his fingers, as if holding a ripe mellon. “So, so much more.”  
…  
…

[And they both lived happily ever after! THE END!!!]

{I feel gypped, we didn’t come into this fic at all!}

[Patience young padewan, a see a sequel, as if thousands of muses cried out in terror, before being acknowledged.] 

{Yay!}

[So stay tuned till next week, when Spideypool talks about their feelings, and Nelson and Murdoc both agree that these are the weirdest clients they’ve ever had.]  
…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …  
> A/N:
> 
> So, yeah, sequel. Turns into even more of a Daredevil crossover. Also there’s a civil war of some kind. Or something. Also lots of banter and feels, because that’s what I do.

**Author's Note:**

> …  
> A/N:
> 
> O my god, i’m a teenage girl. Just, I can’t.
> 
> Timeline:
> 
> 2016: DP movie  
> 2015: cancer diagnosis + weapons X  
> 2014: Meet Peter (flashback scenes from movie) Peter is 24!  
> 2012: Avengers  
> 2010: Iron Man 1  
> 2006: Peter becomes Spiderman (think Andrew Garfield movies, but kept more under wraps)


End file.
